Thicker Than Water
by wildsky
Summary: Lines of Descent AU. Oneshot inspired by 3.02. Mary wasn't the only one John lost. She was simply the first. Please read and review!


**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em (unless they're originals). Please don't sue me. It's **_**so**_** not worth it.**

**A/N: **This story is based on information from episode 3.02 but doesn't contain anything overtly spoilery.

**Thicker Than Water**

**May 15****th****, 1983**

"Mary, he's beautiful."

John smiled as he leaned against the porch railing, watching his sister slowly pace the length of the deck overlooking the backyard with the newest addition to the family, Samuel Winchester, cradled in her arms. Elizabeth grinned at her fair-haired sister-in-law, who was sitting in a chair with her three-year-old nephew Timothy snuggled against her side. Mary's gaze lingered on her older son Dean as he played with his cousin, Nicholas.

"He's got his mother's eyes," John chuckled, shooting an affectionate glance at his wife.

"And his father's lungs," Mary added with a flash of humour. "He hasn't slept through a night yet."

"Not like his brother, huh?" Elizabeth asked, glimpsing the two rambunctious boys wrestling around in the grass. "Nick, not too rough!" she called out. "He's smaller than you!"

As if on cue, Dean tackled his six-year-old cousin from behind and they both went sprawling onto the ground before getting up, scruffy and dirty but unharmed and still full of energy. Elizabeth shook her head as John chuckled at their antics.

"Boys will be boys," he informed the women sagely. Mary and Elizabeth shared identical looks of feminine understanding but didn't say a word. Elizabeth shifted Sam so that his cheek was pillowed on her shoulder, stroking his fine dark hair gently to soothe him when he squirmed for a moment.

Elizabeth finally sat down beside Mary and handed the child back to his mother. Timothy immediately latched onto her in turn, climbing into her lap.

"That one's going to be a handful," Elizabeth cautioned them, though her brown eyes sparked with a teasing light as they rested on her youngest nephew. "Trust me. I can tell."

John smiled at her, taking in the two women seated across from him. They were as different as night and day. Mary, with her long golden hair and piercing blue eyes, was strength and sunshine while Elizabeth had liquid dark eyes and equally dark hair. His sister was sass and humour and those were the two qualities he'd always loved most about her.

She'd been the first member of his family to meet his then-fiancée and it had been her opinion that had mattered most, even more than his parents'. Not that he wouldn't have still married Mary in a heartbeat but it had been important to him that his wife and his little sister liked each other.

He needn't have worried on that score. Mary and Elizabeth had warmed to each other instantly.

Elizabeth looked up as her husband emerged from the house and closed the door quietly behind him.

"Is she asleep?" she asked quietly and he nodded.

"You know she's going to be impossible to put to bed tonight," Philip warned her with a sigh.

"Well, it was either let her sleep or deal with an overtired one-year-old all afternoon," Elizabeth reasoned. "I'll handle it, don't worry."

Philip grumbled but he accepted the beer that John handed to him and didn't pursue the subject any further. Elizabeth simply nodded, satisfied that she'd won the short-lived debate.

"Allie keeping you up?" John rumbled and Philip groaned.

"That kid refuses to sleep when she's supposed to," he complained.

"Must be a Winchester thing," Mary chimed in helpfully. "They're all stubborn."

"It's in the blood," John agreed, taking a swig from his own bottle.

"Amen to that," Elizabeth said with a mischievous grin.

John just stared at the two women, drinking in the sight. He could easily pass the next fifty years in this fashion, sitting out here with his wife and his sister on Sunday afternoons, their children and grandchildren raising hell in the backyard.

That was his idea of heaven.

**November 6****th****, 1983**

"John, _please_… open the door."

Elizabeth had her forehead pressed against the hotel room door, her dark brown tresses falling around her face as she begged her brother to let her in. For four days, he'd locked himself and his children away from the world. He hadn't spoken to a soul since the police and firemen had finished with him… except to call her and tell her what had happened in a voice that sounded nothing short of dead.

Leaving her husband and children in Wichita, she'd driven to Lawrence like a bat out of hell only for their mother to tell her that John had taken off and wouldn't return her calls. He wouldn't return anyone's calls. Knowing her brother as she did, that was like waving a red flag in front of her eyes.

Mary had been John's world and Elizabeth couldn't even imagine what it must feel like to have that ripped away from him but she'd be damned before she let him drink himself senseless, especially with the two boys in his care. She'd seen him fall apart after he got back from Vietnam and she couldn't let it happen again.

It had taken her the better part of two days to track him down.

"John, I am not leaving until you open this door," she warned him. "I know you can hear me!" She turned around and leaned her back against the wall, letting her head fall back against the faded wallpaper with a sigh. "Please just talk to me…"

The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft noise of a television inside the room.

Elizabeth sank to the floor and pulled her knees up to her chest, pushing her long hair away from her face. She pursed her lips as she considered her options and slowly started to talk, even though she had no idea if he was listening.

"Do you remember when we were kids," she began carefully, "and Grandpa used to come over on Sundays to play with us?" She smiled a little at the memory. "He promised every week that he'd come over at one o'clock… and he always did. He was never late and we'd sit next to the window and watch out for his car." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "Then one week he didn't show up. We stared out of that window for hours."

"Grandma called and Mom started crying… and so did I 'cause she wouldn't tell us what was wrong and I got scared. The whole time you were telling me everything was going to be okay."

"Guess it's my turn now, huh?" she continued softly, glancing at the unyielding wood standing between her and her brother as tears burned behind her eyes. "God, Johnny, I'm so sorry…"

She heard a quiet shuffling on the other side of the door and her heart leapt into her throat when the handle turned and the barrier swung open. Elizabeth scrambled to her feet.

"Jesus, Johnny…" she breathed, her heart breaking for him. He looked like shit, his bloodshot eyes shadowed by dark circles and his cheeks rough with four days worth of stubble.

John slowly moved aside to let her in, knowing there was no way she'd let him close the door in her face now that he'd opened it. The door closed with a click and Elizabeth glanced around the room.

She glimpsed the empty bottles on the counter and her heart sank into her toes. She turned around and hugged him fiercely, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill onto his shoulder. After a moment's hesitation, his arms wrapped around her and she almost stopped breathing, he was holding her so hard.

"I'm so sorry about Mary," she whispered and John's head fell forward onto her shoulder, his hands tightening convulsively, fisting in her shirt. She just hugged him, letting him take whatever small comfort she could offer. When he finally released her, he stepped back and cleared his throat, averting his face.

Elizabeth gave in to the unspoken request and turned her attention to the two boys. Dean and Sam were on the bed, the older boy sitting against the headboard while Sam slumbered, nestled among the pillows strategically placed to stop him from rolling off the bed.

"Hey, Dean." Elizabeth sat down on the bed beside her nephew and reached out to stroke his hair but he didn't even look up. He just kept staring at the television. "How're you doing, kiddo?"

"What are you doing here, Liz?" John asked wearily, scrubbing a hand over his pale, whiskered face.

"Where else would I be?" she replied softly, looking up to meet his gaze steadily.

"At home," he bit out, "with your family." His voice cracked on the last word and Elizabeth's heart constricted in sympathy.

"You're my family too, Johnny," she reminded him. "Last time I checked, you were still my big brother."

"You shouldn't be here," John breathed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.

"Why not?" Elizabeth prompted him, her brow furrowing as she followed his movements. He was circling the room like a caged animal, wary and on edge. It reminded her of when he'd returned from the war and had ended up with insomnia. He hadn't gotten a decent night's rest for months and she'd lost quite a bit of sleep worrying about him. Mary, on the other hand, had seemed to cure him of that particular ailment – a fact that had immediately ingratiated her to his family.

"It's dangerous," he said through clenched teeth, reaching back under his jacket and withdrawing a pistol, seemingly without conscious thought. Elizabeth stilled, her breath catching in her throat as she watched him put it down and brace himself against the counter. The hunted look in his eyes was all too familiar.

"John, why do you have a gun?" she asked, keeping her voice low and trying not to let her growing anxiety show. She gave Dean's baby-soft hair one final slow stroke and moved towards her brother. He hadn't touched a firearm since he'd left the Marines.

"Protecting my sons," John ground out, his brown eyes hard and filled with pain and determination. Elizabeth's hand came to rest tentatively on his shoulder and when he gave no sign of reaction, her grip tightened.

"Johnny." She tried to ignore her thundering heartbeat. "Dean and Sam are safe. They don't need protecting. Not like this."

"It's not enough," he denied but Elizabeth had the feeling he was talking more to himself than to her. She tugged on his shoulder, forcing him to look at her.

"John, what are you talking about?" she whispered, reaching up to cup his face in her hands and meet the dark eyes that were so much like her own. "The police said it was an accident."

"She was pinned to the ceiling, Liz!"

"Wait… wh-what?" Elizabeth stammered in bewilderment. "Johnny, this sounds crazy –" she began but he grabbed hold of her wrists, brown eyes blazing.

"It was _real_, Lizzie," he growled, his grip on her tightening enough to make her hiss in pain. "It was real."

"You're hurting me," she protested.

"I need you to believe me, Liz," he persisted, almost desperate in his intensity. "Something _killed_ Mary."

"Yes, John, a _fire_ killed Mary," she replied, attempting to make him see reason as she tried to ease his grip on her arms.

"_No!_" he snarled, pushing her away hard enough that she banged into the counter and let out a gasp of pain as Sam started crying, woken by the commotion. Elizabeth swallowed hard, watching as Sam's cries seemed to silence whatever was raging inside her brother's head.

"Do you want me to get him?" she offered as she rubbed her sore wrists, breaking the tension but John shook his head. "When was the last time you ate something?"

"Yesterday," John muttered as he turned away and moved towards Sam's makeshift crib. "Maybe."

"And the boys?" She knew it wasn't a pleasant question and wasn't surprised when he gave her a reproachful look in response. At least he hadn't forgotten about their needs even if his own were at the bottom of the list. "I could bring you something –"

"I'm not hungry," he said softly as he lifted his younger son into his arms and started pacing the room with him, doing his best to sooth the restless child. Slowly Sam's high-pitched wails tapered off into hiccupping sobs.

Elizabeth simply watched as John paced the room with his son, acutely aware of the way Dean's eyes followed the pair, as if they might disappear at any moment.

She didn't realize she was rubbing her wrists until John put Sam down and reached out to stop her, his hand resting over hers to still the motion.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes on the bruises forming on her wrists. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," she assured him quietly.

"I can't go back there," he denied gruffly, shaking his head. "Mom and Dad… they don't understand."

"Then come and stay with me in Wichita," she urged him. "Please, Johnny. You can't stay here like this."

She should have known that his agreement was as insubstantial as smoke.

**March 26****th****, 1984**

"Damn it, John!"

Elizabeth hurled the telephone into a wall in sheer frustration, the words of the third private investigator she'd hired ringing in her ears.

"_The trail's gone cold_."

She paced the length of her living room, raking a restless hand through her long hair as she dragged in a deep, steadying breath.

"Mom?"

Elizabeth whirled to find Nick standing in the doorway, staring at her with wide brown eyes that reminded her forcefully of her brother.

"Did I wake you, baby?" she asked, all the anger draining out of her at the thought.

Nick nodded slightly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetie," she replied automatically, inwardly kicking herself for losing her temper in such a fashion. "I'm sorry. Let's get you back to bed, huh?"

"Did you find Uncle John?" he asked as she took his hand and Elizabeth stopped in her tracks, looking down at her all-too-perceptive offspring with resigned brown eyes.

"Not this time," she replied truthfully. "I'm still trying."

"Would you look for me if I went away?"

The question hit Elizabeth in the heart and she hunkered down beside him so that they were eye-to-eye, holding his small hands in hers.

"Listen to me, baby," she told him, quietly but intently. "Nothing in this world would ever stop me from finding you or your brother and sister. Okay?"

"Okay," Nick said softly, nodding in understanding. He offered her a small smile and Elizabeth pressed a loving kiss to his forehead.

"I love you, baby."

"Love you too, Mom," Nick replied as she ruffled his hair and gave him a light pat on the bottom to speed him on his way back up to his bedroom.

Once she'd tucked him back into bed, Elizabeth sat down on the back stairs, staring out over the rose bushes she'd spent years cultivating around the old colonial-style house. Roses of every colour she could get her hands on. In spring and summer, once the sun had risen and the blooms had opened, she'd spend hours every day in her gardens. Working with her hands helped her to unwind, kept her grounded. It soothed her.

So despite the fact that it was dark and even the moon seemed disinclined to shine, Elizabeth retrieved her tools and worked out her frustration in her garden, knowing that as soon as a new day dawned she'd start the search yet again.

**June 12****th****, 1984**

"_Twinkle, twinkle, little star… how I wonder what you are_… Ssshhhh, baby."

Timothy continued to squirm, crying fitfully as he fought against sleep. Usually a biddable child, he'd proven stubborn, waking up over and over despite the best efforts of both of his parents. So Elizabeth had finally caved and resorted to the one thing that had never failed in the past.

The car.

She pulled up at a red light and leaned her head back against the seat, letting out a tired sigh. It was almost eleven o'clock and the stars lit up the clear night sky. Nick and Allie had both gone to sleep without any trouble. Only Tim had proven difficult.

Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with her husband and sleep until noon.

The radio started to crackle, the reception going haywire for several seconds. It was enough to make Timothy squawk and start howling again. Elizabeth let out a frustrated groan and hit the steering wheel.

"Tim, please…" she begged.

Elizabeth glanced in a rear-view mirror and froze, eyes widening at the sight of a stranger in the back seat, staring down at her son with an icy smile. She twisted around in the seat in desperation as he reached for Timothy.

"_No!_"

His eyes flashed golden and then all she could taste and see was blood.

**September 18****th****, 1984**

Leaves wafted across the ground, flickers of autumn colour obscuring the soft green grass beneath his feet as John stared down at the two gravestones in silence.

_Elizabeth Anne Sinclair._

_Beloved wife and mother._

_Timothy John Sinclair._

_Beloved son._

Three months and he hadn't known.

He hadn't known because no-one could find him to tell him.

He'd left Dean and Sam with Pastor Jim. The preacher hadn't questioned him. He'd simply stepped aside to let Dean inside and reached out to take a sleeping Sam from his father, promising to watch over them until John returned.

It didn't seem real.

He'd always had a little sister. For as long as he could remember, his world had included her. Whether she was teasing him or making him laugh or telling him in all seriousness that the powder blue tuxedo he wore to prom was hideous and should be burned, she'd always been there. Whether she was in his face or on the fringes…

And now she was gone.

The newspapers said it was a carjacking gone wrong. Elizabeth had said that driving put Timothy to sleep every time without fail. The car had been found on the side of the road, burned out. Only a twisted metal husk and the bones of a woman and a three-year-old child remained.

Philip had shouted and hung up on him when he'd called. He honestly couldn't blame the man.

John had known that Elizabeth would try to find him. She may not have kept the name but she was a Winchester by blood and they were stubborn as hell. Once Elizabeth made up her mind to do something, she didn't quit for anything or anybody. Her brother had vanished and she'd wanted to know why. So she'd searched, hiring detectives and contacting every military friend of John's that she'd ever known.

She'd come pretty close a few times. She was definitely persistent.

It hurt to think about her in the past tense.

First Mary, now Elizabeth. His wife and his sister. Both taken before their time. Not to mention little Timothy, one of the gentlest children John had ever encountered.

John thought of his sons and sighed sadly. No child should have to lose their mother.

Dean had been terribly quiet since that night. The sight of fire, even the lighting of a match, would scare him. He missed his mother's voice, her presence. But Sam… Sam was so young that he wouldn't even remember what Mary looked like or sounded like.

Now Nick and Allie faced the same challenge. Nick had known and loved his mother while Allie, who wasn't even two years old, would never have the chance to. And to lose a sibling as well… but at least they still had their father. Philip would protect them. Of that John had no doubt.

He lifted the bouquet of red roses he'd brought with him and inhaled deeply. The scent reminded him of Elizabeth – they'd always been her favourites. Her house was surrounded by them even now. John hunkered down in front of the gravestone and laid the flowers at the base, pausing only to extract one to give to Timothy.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, Liz," he sighed, moisture creeping into his eyes which he quickly brushed away. He touched the name on the gravestone with the tips of his fingers, the cool marble such a contrast to the sassy personality that had characterized the woman now buried in the earth beneath his feet. "I thought you'd stopped looking for me." He took a deep, ragged breath. "Guess I should have known better, huh?"

What he should have done was protect her. Like he should have protected Mary. They were his family, his responsibility, and he'd let them both down.

_Where else would I be?_

Elizabeth had asked him that only a few short days after Mary's death when he'd challenged her presence. The words haunted him now. She'd dropped everything to support him and he could never return the favour. He didn't understand why she'd been taken any more than he understood why evil had burned his wife, his home and his dreams all in one hellish night.

Now all he had left in the world were his sons.

And a mission.


End file.
